Pluie Noir
by Dima Ivanovich
Summary: What is lurking in the ruins of a collapsed order? Everything seems ripped apart and shattered in pieces. People are lost, minions are without master, an order gone, a life's work destroyed. But in the chaos new threats emerge. Nobody is safe.
1. Murder City

Pluie Noir

**Pluie Noir**

_**Part One**_

**Murder City**

When Nick Marshal arrived at the police station he still hadn't ate any breakfast. Not for the first time this year he had stayed in bed a little too long and just managed to get washed and dressed quick enough to catch the underground.

"You missed a button", said one of his colleagues as he entered the canteen. Nick stood still to investigate his shirt and grumbled a short 'thank you' to the guy from the uniformed department. Quickly he rearranged the buttons on the white shirt before someone could get a glimpse of his bare upper body.

From the small canteen they had in the station he took a cheese sandwich and out of the vending machine a can of cold coke. With the improvised breakfast under his arm and his briefcase in his right hand he tried to unlock the door to his office with the left hand. A grunt of annoyance left Nick's mouth as he finally kicked the door open and dropped the can on his desk.

"What's going on in the world of police", he mumbled to himself while chewing on the sandwich. He browsed through some paperwork he had left on the desk before the weekend. Nick's desk had a minimalist design, mostly because he always was too lazy putting anything decorative. He was working as a detective for the London CID and only about a week ago he had made promotion so to have his own room.

The remains of a nagging headache got stuck in his forehead. It had been a long night yesterday of sitting in front of the television and drinking whiskey. The painkiller he took in the morning before drinking coffee didn't work and he searched in the drawers for another packet. That moment someone knocked on the door of his office.

"Enter", said Nick shortly with a raspy voice. When his colleague Jason David came in he looked up from the desk. Jason didn't say anything but just stared at Nick with a roguish smirk.

"This is the office of a chief detective; shouldn't you go and play somewhere else?" Then he burst into a cheerful laugh and slapped Nick on the shoulder.

Marshal was a tall lanky figure with messy dark blond hair and grey eyes. He pulled a painful looking face when Jason slapped him and pushed his workmate away.

"Calm down a little, I have a headache. By the way, with my new job there is also a responsibility over you. Why are you ten minutes late?"

"Traffic jam, as always", explained Jason. "But that is not relevant now. I was sent here to tell you about a phone call we just received, a man's found dead in his apartment this morning."

"I still wonder why you keep taking the car to work", said Nick as they drove through the city a few minutes later. "I always take the underground."

It was early autumn and very clouded; with a relatively high temperature it was a little stuffy outside.

"I told you before", said Jason impatiently. He was driving and aggressively drummed on the steering wheel whenever they had to stop.

"I have this phobia that I can't sit on the seat next to the window. In case of emergency I want to be near the aisle."

Nick looked at his colleague; Jason Ryan David was a native Londoner from West Ham. He looked a bit like a dumb muscle but was in fact a clever witted man. He had short hair and was sturdy built, his blue eyes always made a vivid impression and he usually talked a lot. Jason could be somewhat blunt now and then, perhaps a result of his working class heritage.

"I don't see the problem. If you don't want to sit near the window, then don't. Take the outside seat."

'That is exactly the problem", said Jason with a sigh.

"There are also other people in the train. If I take the outside seat there's a chance that someone enters and wants to sit next to me. That means I have to scoot to the window seat. I mean, I can't stand up and ask the other person to sit there. I'd look like a bloody idiot and if the train is very crowded I bother other passengers too."

Nick silenced and seemed to ponder how to react on Jason's explanation.

"Then search for a place where the window seat is already taken and sit there, what about that? Or just stand the whole ride."

"Do you realise how stupid it looks if a guy sits down next to someone whilst there are enough empty places around?" was the immediate reaction.

"Same about standing, if I stand in a half empty train it looks bonkers. If I stand in a full train people will stand up for me to offer their seat."

Nick grunted loud and shook his head in astonishment.

"Your problem is not your phobia, but the way you care about what other people think. Why should they bother about you?"

The house where Richard Schultz used to live before his demise was situated in quiet and very common neighbourhood. Every house had a neat looking front garden and a car on the driveway. Nick imagined that on Saturday mornings everyone here was washing their cars or mowing the lawns. As the row of houses passed the car window they all looked identical. If it wasn't for the one with yellow police tape around it and a small crowd standing near. Two patrol cars were already parked on the driveway and a van from the forensic team stood closest to the door.

"I hope they do their work quickly", grumbled Nick as he stepped over the tape.

"In this damp weather a dead body will soon stink like hell." A uniformed policeman came to Nick and Jason and shook hands.

"Richard Schultz did not wake up this morning", he explained. "Every weekday he gets up at about eight and always waves to the neighbours when he passes their window on his way to work. This morning the curtains remained closed and he didn't answer the phone. His neighbours, a retired couple, immediately got suspicious and phoned the police."

During talking they had walked inside the house. It had a Spartan looking interior design without any decorations.

"Where is the body?" asked Nick when he didn't see anything suspicious in the hallway or through the doorway to the living room.

"Upstairs in the bathroom", said the policeman. "I must warn you, it's a little… messy."

He led Nick and Jason up the stairs where they ended up at a small landing. It was swarming with forensic people.

"Are you the detectives?" asked one of them. "We are still searching for evidence inside the bathroom, so if you please will just stand in the doorway and look from there."

Jason and Nick both poked their heads into the room and oversaw the crime scene. The uniformed officer hadn't said a thing too less with 'messy'. Richard Schultz had been caught wearing nothing but some boxer shorts as he just wanted to take a bath. The murderer had hit him through the chest with a blade of some sort almost cutting the man in half. A second wound appeared as a large hole through his hip. Schultz had been bleeding so much that the bathtub was filled.

"Fucking hell, what an awful mess", said Jason and turned away from the view. Nick stood a little longer and examined the body itself that lay belly down in the tub folded in an unnatural position. The detective's eyes then travelled to the wall where blood also had splattered against the bathroom tiles. But what really caught Nick's attention were the indefinable symbols or letters that had been drawn in blood.

"Jason? Did you see the writing on the wall?" he asked without looking over his shoulder.

"I did", was the short answer. "Looks like the work of a psychotic killer. Let the forensic boys take photos of it and send them up to cryptology."

Back downstairs Nick and Jason explored the living room a little to get a first impression what kind of person Richard Schultz had been. There were some chairs and a sofa, a wooden coffee table, a large bookcase and a desk. All the furniture seemed rather old, the oak chair behind the desk creaked heavily as Jason carefully sat down in it.

"Looks much like the house of my grandparents", he remarked. "All that oak and old fashioned cushions, obviously my grandma has more stuff hanging on the wall."

In terms of decoration the room had indeed a Spartan look as Nick noticed earlier. The only notable piece was a painting that hung above the empty mantelpiece. It displayed the image of a castle in the hills surrounded by pine trees.

"The neighbours that contacted us first describe him as an introvert type", told the policeman who silently had been watching the two men from CID. "They never saw him with friends or family. Every day he went to his work in the morning and after returning home he stayed inside till the next day. But he was very polite to them, always said hello when they saw him."

Jason turned around in the desk chair.

"He was a loner then, was he? That does not make our work much easier. The only opening we have is his work; didn't they report him missing yet?"

Nick was standing in front of the large bookcase and let his finger slide over the many titles.

"It seems Schultz was a religious man", he said. "All his books are about spirituality and associated subjects." He looked further down the case.

"Even about Satanism and witchcraft I see. Where did he work?"

"At a large bank in the city", told Jason. "I found a couple of papers her on his desk, including a pay check. He received an average salary, perhaps he wasn't more then a simple administrational worker."

Together they walked outside into the crowd that only had turned bigger since the time they had arrived.

"For now we have enough material", stated Nick. "We go back to the station and have a briefing."

At that moment a short blond woman in a brown jacket and a black skirt appeared next to Jason's car. "Are you leading the investigation?" she asked bluntly and showed a business card. Nick recognised the logo of a small news website. Hardly before he could nod she fired the next question about him. "What can you tell about the way the victim was murdered?" Nick opened the car door and leaned with one arm on the roof.

"We don't want to disclose anything at this moment", he answered impatiently. Jason already sat down behind the steering wheel and wanted to start the car.

"Last question", said the young woman. "Do you know why he was killed?"

Nick sat down and looked up to the reporter who now bowed over to him.

"Because someone wanted him dead", he answered dryly before slamming the door shut.

"Do you think it will be a large article?" asked Jason with a smirk as the drove away from the crime scene. Nick didn't catch the irony in his colleague's voice and frowned.

"No. As long as they don't know about the symbols on the wall it's just an ordinary case. Someone being killed in London is not so special; we live in a murder city."


	2. City Central

City Central

**City Central**

Nick Marshal looked out over his team of detectives and gulped down the last bit of coffee from the plastic cup he was holding. Through the blinds in front of the window he could see it was getting cloudier outside, tonight there'd probably be a storm. The last person arrived from the toilet and joined with the others, for a Nick a sign to start his briefing about the murder investigation of Richard Schultz.

"I know the weather is being a bitch, most you are probably having a cold or expect to catch one soon, but we need some hard work to be done."

Nick chewed on the wooden stirrer from his coffee cup and turned to the whiteboard behind him. With a marker pen he had written down the main facts of the murder, photos of the crime scene provided visual details.

"Richard Schultz was found dead in his house this morning. According to his neighbours he never had any visitors; no friends, no family, nobody. This is statement is fuelled by the fact that nobody reported him missing except for his work. Schultz was working at a bank in the centre of London and of course he didn't show up today."

Nick dropped a pause and looked around to see if anyone had a question so far.

"This situation is a curse as well as a blessing for our investigation", he continued. "Victims with a large family and many friends also have a long list of possible killers. In this case our leads are limited. However, that means we also have to be cautious with everything we have."

A man at the front raised his hand up in the air.

"Sir, the way the victim got killed was extremely brutal, and we found these strange symbols on the wall. Is that giving us any clues right now?"

"It means that we are looking for a strong person, most likely someone with combat experience. The symbols on the wall might point to a psychotic killer. That would make things harder because it could mean that Schultz was a random victim."

Nick pointed at his friend Jason and winked.

"Jason, I want you to take young Jones and have a talk with the neighbours again. Briggs, Maud and Owen go around the street asking people if they saw or heard something suspicious. According to the forensic boys the murder took place in the evening. Jimbo and Dan are lucky, you guys can stay inside and check out Schultz' computer. We took the thing here; go through it with a fine toothed comb. Open every document, every image and every folder with favourites or anything. Try find out what kept him busy; maybe he had an address book in Outlook. I myself go to the city centre and drop by at the bank he was working. Phone me for important news, otherwise we will see each other again in the end of the day for the evaluation."

Everybody stood up and a noise of shoving chairs and folding paperwork rose from the crowd.

"Good luck", Nick said but his voice was drowned out by the chatter from his colleagues.

"Good speech", said Jason teasingly and slapped Nick's shoulder with a rolled up newspaper. Nick smirked and blocked the attack.

"Make me happy Jason; try to get something out of those pensioners. Schultz must have had hobbies or something, ask what they saw him doing in the weekends."

"Will do", said Jason and also left the briefing room. Nick was standing all alone now and silently watched the whiteboard with all the gruesome photos. As he stood there his confident attitude suddenly disappeared. He nervously looked over his shoulder and bit his cheek. Again he made sure that nobody was watching him and then he quickly took a few of the photos from under the little magnets. In his own room Nick searched in the desk drawers for an envelope and shoved the photos inside.

"What in the name of God am I doing?" he asked himself and wiped the sweat from his hands. Never ever since his first day as policeman he had done something against the rules. But now he felt there was no other choice. The telephone on his desk stood quietly waiting for him but Nick still hesitated. He had to keep this under control; one little talk couldn't do much harm. One tip that wouldn't be mentioned in the reports, that wouldn't draw anyone's attention. Nick took a deep breath before grabbing the telephone and dialling a number. As soon as the call got answered he regretted his decision, but he couldn't go back now anymore.

"Hello?"

"Hey it's me Nick, Nick Marshal. I have some stuff I want you to look at."

The person at the other side silenced for a moment.

"What kind of stuff do you want me to see?"

"Photos from a murder scene, it happened last night here in London."

"I don't want to come to the police station", said the man with a slightly boring tone. Nick heard how he took a swig of coffee and released a sigh.

"What kind of murder is it that you want to see me?"

"Something right up your alley, or so I believe. We will see each other in a diner or a pub, completely unofficial if you what I mean. Your name won't be mentioned anywhere."

The man cleared his throat and sniffed sceptically.

"Ok, I will be there."

Nick made excellent use of the circumstances to cover up his off the record meeting. The diner they chose to meet was just across the street from the bank were Richard Schultz had been working. Right after the talk he could walk into the Barclays establishment and nobody would ever suspect anything.

When Nick entered the small bistro he saw that his friend already had arrived. At a table near the window sat a lonely man staring at the burning end of his cigarette. He was of average height, had dark brown hair and crystal blue eyes. He wore jeans, combat boots and a black cotton sweater with leather patches on shoulders and elbows. When he spotted Nick's thin lips curved up in a smirk and he straightened his back.

"You must be Kurtis Trent", said Nick mockingly as he sat down at the other side of the table.

"I have files on you, my boy. After your departure from the Foreign Legion you worked as a mercenary in Croatia, Israel, Russia and North Africa. Enough charges to send you straight to death row."

Kurtis took a packet of Lucky Strikes from his pocket and offered a cigarette to Nick.

"If only you had evidence, eh? They won't capture Trent so easily."

Kurtis and Nick had become friends more then a decade ago when they served together in the Foreign Legion. Nick Marshal came from a high class family and grew up in wealth and fortune. Upon finishing school he had no idea what he wanted to become in life. Nick had always been a philosophical type that needed time and solitude to think. With borrowed money from his father he went on a trip throughout Europe to orientate and think about his future. He didn't get further then France however, where he met an ex-Legionnaire in a Parisian nightclub. In a spontaneous mood Nick singed up for the Legion less then a day later.

"We haven't seen each other for long", stated the policeman after declining a cigarette.

"How're you?"

"I have had better days", answered Kurtis with a raspy voice and coughed.

"I was in Prague, about two weeks ago. I can't really talk about the business I was dealing with, but they caught me really bad this time. There's this wound right beneath my ribs; it didn't hit any vital organs, but the pain is awful."

Nick frowned concerned and looked around if a waiter would come to their table.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Are you on medication?"

"The doctor gave me tranquilisers to prevent me going mental from pain. Moving and bending is still a problem, I'm doing exercises every day. You see, sometimes there is this situation where the demons hunt you."

Kurtis had obtained the nickname Demon Hunter since his time with the Legion in Iraq. Despite his lanky built and limited physical strength Nick had made through basic training and was put in the paratrooper division together with Kurtis. During a mission in the Gulf War the Legion was camping in the Iraqi wilderness near a pre-Islamic temple. There Kurtis had revealed his knowledge of ancient religions and demon worshipping. He claimed that he could read the inscriptions they found on the ruins that were left of the temple. Nick remembered waking up one morning and overhearing some of the boys telling that Trent went out of his tent in the middle of the night to go to the temple. Apparently he had performed some kind of ritual and declared that the place now was free of bad spirits. Kurtis never confirmed this straight but the rumours kept buzzing around for a while.

"A coffee please and a blackberry muffin", said Nick to the waiter that appeared at their table. He wanted to hand the menu to his friend but Kurt didn't even look at it.

"That'll be two coffees."

"What can I help you with?" he asked when the waiter left.

"I'm not in the condition to run errands."

Marshal produced the enveloped from his pocket and placed it in front of him on the table.

"A man was killed this morning in a London neighbourhood. The killer wrote a message on the wall with the blood of his victim. We sent photos of the message to our cryptologists."

Kurtis reached out to take the envelope, but Nick pushed him back.

"Wait a second till the waiter is back. I don't want anyone else to see what you're looking at. Take them out and quickly sneak a peak, like checking out your hand at a poker game."

It didn't take long before the two cups of coffee and the muffin arrived at their table. Nick paid for them both and then shoved the envelope to the other side of the table. Kurt took out the images and looked quickly just as his friend instructed him.

"Yeah, that's kind of obvious", he said and put them back.

"Are you thinking the same as I do?" Nick leaned forward a bit and whispered.

The demon hunter nodded quickly.

"Yes, they're the same runes as in that temple in Iraq. Your cryptology department won't identify this. Too bad the image is too vague for me to read the runes."

Nick put the envelope back in the pocket of his coat.

"What is going on here, Kurtis? You never told why you could read those symbols back then. Is my victim related to you in any way?"

Kurtis took a sip from his coffee and wiped his chin.

"This is all very delicate information, Nick. I'm involved in certain business connected with those runes. But this murder comes as a surprise for me as well. Give me a little time to investigate things myself and I will keep you updated with information."

Nick pulled an unsatisfied muzzle.

"As a good friend I deserve a little more then that. By the way, this whole conversation is off the record. I can't keep using you as source of information without mentioning it in any report. I'm not a private detective; I have superiors to deal with."

"Alright", said Kurtis. "There is a secret organisation, the Cabal. My stay in Prague was directly connected with it and the events in Iraq too. Don't mention this to anybody, but some gruesome stuff is going to happen in the time to come. This is all I can tell for now, but I will help you, I promise."

Nick looked at his watch.

"I have another appointment to attend", he said curtly. "Thanks for everything; I will speak to you later." The men said goodbye and Nick left the establishment.

Exactly thirty-two minutes later he took out his mobile phone and dialled Jason's number. A short interview with the bank manager had not resulted in any valuable information. Richard Schultz was a quiet anonymous employee who came always in time and did his job neatly. He was well organised, good mannered and a little shy. He had an English passport but during the little talks he had with colleagues they got the impression that Schultz had not always lived on the British Isles.

"Hey Jason, are you somewhere near the city centre? I don't have any change for the underground; maybe you can come and pick me up? I just finished a talk with that bank manager. Thanks a bunch."

Not much later he sat at the passenger seat of Jason's car and they drove through central London. Dark clouds packed together above them and a thunder rumbled in the distance.

"We're going to have some pretty bad weather", said Jason. "Did you have any good result from the bank manager?"

Nick Marshal shook his head and stared grumpily out of the front window.

"Nothing that we weren't aware of already. Except that Schultz is not of English heritage but that wasn't so difficult to guess with that name. How about your talk with his neighbours then?"

"A kraut then, is it?" Jason giggled loudly and offered Nick some chewing gum. He had a taste for politically incorrect jokes, without any bad intend however. Nick took a piece of gum and slowly chewed on it.

"His neighbours are an older couple", continued Jason. "Lovely people really. They say Richard was such a decent young man who never caused any trouble. He always helped them to trim the hedges, swept up the snow from the pavement during the winter, all that kind of suburban happiness. The only valuable information I received is that Richard Schultz was visiting some kind of support group during the weekends. Not that he had a drinking problem or something, from what his neighbours understood he talked with other people about faith and religion."

Nick nodded in acknowledgement and for a minute they both silenced. The thunder outside got louder and it seemed they drove closer to the core of the storm. The sky had a sinister sulphur-like colour that did not promise much good for the hours to come.

"How are you doing lately?" asked Jason suddenly. "You're looking a little feeble, to be honest." Jason was a good friend of Nick and basically the only one who could ask thing like that.

"Maybe I had too little sleep lately", answered his colleague.

"It's because you don't do anything when you come home", said Jason strictly. "Always watching telly and hanging on the sofa is not good for you. Why don't you come and visit me a bit more often?"

Jason lived with a wife and two kids in a renovated part of West London. Nick had always been single and rented a small apartment not far from the centre.

"West Ham United is playing at home this weekend. Usually I go with Leslie and Neill, but the girl can stay home with her mother for once. After the match we have dinner with the five of us. That will do you good."

Nick smiled a bit awkward but finally agreed to come.

"What is going on out there?" he asked to change subjects. Jason looked in the direction his friend was pointing. In between the many buildings and office blocks was a sandy pit with some scaffolding around it.

"Oh I read about that in the newspaper", he said. "There was supposed to be some construction going on there, new commercial development or something. But during digs they found the remains from a medieval settlement of some kind. Now the whole thing is closed down and being supervised by a team of archaeologists."

He giggled again in his familiar way. "It's a law you know, when they find something like that construction must be postponed until some freaks had the chance to dig up pots and vases. I bet the contractor went all bonkers when he heard that."


	3. Spooks

Spooks

**Spooks**

When Nick returned to his apartment in the evening the worst of the thunderstorm was over. A drizzly rain came down from the sky and at the horizon he could see the sun peaking through the grey clouds. Marshal was tired and felt happy when he turned the key in its lock and pushed the door open. He lived in a small apartment on the fifth floor of a large complex. It had a living room and open kitchen, a separate bedroom, and a small bathroom. From the balcony Nick could watch out over the city and see the massive traffic of people returning from work. The streets and rooftops seemed to glimmer from the heavy rain that had been pouring down. Water still dripped from the gutter and the trees.

Before leaving his office behind Nick had been talking with Dan Harper, the police department's computer expert. He had been searching through Richard Schultz's personal computer, together with Jim 'Jimbo' Wannamaker.

"We think our man Schultz had an unhealthy obsession for occultism and satanic sects from the medieval times", Dan had explained. "His computer was overloaded with manuscripts, scans and photos all connected with that subject. It seemed he was creating a library or a sourcebook of some kind, there was enough material for a two hour documentary."

"But remarkably enough", Jimbo had added. "He was only gathering raw material but didn't seem to do anything with it. I have read all his Word files but there is not a single word written by himself."

The two guys had shown Nick some of the graphic material. It contained sinister looking artwork of demons and other fantasy figures, schematic drawings of the human body with instructions how to torture, curse, or alchemically 'heal' a person. There were maps of cities, buildings and underground complexes. Most of all the text material was written in a language none of them had seen before.

"The little amount of English documentation we found", continued Jimbo, "was referring to the Obscura engravings. We tried to search for that in Google but it didn't give any results."

Nick went in the bedroom to change for something more comfortable and then went to his fridge to check for something to eat. For the moment he didn't want to think about any Obscura engravings or medieval sects. Mostly because he knew it wouldn't lead anywhere right now. It al referred to certain business that only a few people knew about, and Kurtis Trent was one of them. Another was Richard Schultz, but he was dead. A third party were the people that Richard Schultz saw during the weekends. The team had not find any trace leading to the support group or its whereabouts, and Kurtis Trent only appeared when he wanted. The outcome was simple but cynical, Nick to had wait for another member of the support group to be killed or for Kurt to show up again. From the fridge he took a microwave meal and a can of soda. He always had been single and got used to these boring unromantic evenings. While the meal was warming he switched on the television and mindlessly flicked through the channels. Sometimes if he sat like that, spooks came up in his head. Demons from the past that didn't want to leave him alone. Marshal thought about his youth, his time in the army and the return to England. He remembered the death and destruction he had witnessed in Iraq and the gloomy misery he saw every day during his job as policeman. Nick used to think of himself as wiser then most other people. He had learned from bitter experiences and seen life as it really was, or so he believed. Yet he could be deeply jealous of average types like Jason who could enjoy life in all its simplicity. As he stood up from the sofa and walked to the window he thought about Kurtis, and how little he actually knew about his friend. Kurt was a scoundrel, a cold hearted mercenary. But beyond that grim image was more; how did his parents ever end up in Utah? What was his involvement with Schultz and the whole occult thing? Nick sighted slowly and watched the grey rainy weather outside. He felt a knot in his stomach and suddenly had the urge to phone and talk to someone, but he didn't know who. Somewhere out there in that enormous city the killer of Richard Schultz was walking around. An invisible black cloud was floating above London; a deadly curse had come to the people.

It was already past midnight when Nick Marshal went to bed. The rest of the evening he had spent in front of the television and at the kitchen table. The microwave meal had tasted like plastic and the coffee for afters was bitter and only lukewarm. Half a bottle of whiskey and a cold shower later Nick dropped himself on the bed and wished he'd fall asleep quickly. It was warm and stuffy inside the house but Nick forgot to open a window. In combination with the whiskey and his gloomy state of mind it didn't promise to be a peaceful night. When the sleep caught him the detective found himself standing in the London Underground. He was right at the station where he went every morning to go to his work. In his dream Nick boarded the train and sat down on one of the many seats. Only when the vehicle came in motion again he noticed that he was alone. With a sonorous rumbling the train drove through the darkness as if nothing was wrong. Lights flashed by in the windows and sometimes the train blew its horn. Nick started to walk up the aisle and see what was going on up front. But the longer he walked the further his path seemed to stretch out. Then the front of the train completed faded out into darkness and Marshall seemed to step through the vehicle into the dark tunnel. His footsteps sounded hollow in the underground complex.

"I'm tracking down five Obcura Paintings for a client..."

The voice came out of nothing and seemed to disappear as fast as it came. Nick heard screaming voices, grunts and groans of pain.

"Esteemed Cabal members, the moment of truth comes even closer."

Another voice echoed through the tunnel. Nick wanted to run away from the sound but it kept following him.

"It's my destiny to breed hell on earth! I will harvest your organs!"

The voices turned louder and the screams continued. It felt like he overheard the sound of a torture chamber. Suddenly a white face appeared in front of him. Its mouth opened and hollow black eyes stared at Nick.

"We Nephilim have ever been trying to survive", said the pale face before a thick black substance streamed out of his eyes, nose and mouth. The policeman turned his face away from the gruesome image and hid his head between his arms. Everything around him seemed to fade away before a new environment appeared instead. It was the Iraqi desert he now stood in, and his feet rested on the crumbled remains of the pre-Islamic temple. A chilly desert wind blew in Nick's face and sand tickled in his nose. It was full moon and a blue surrealistic glow fell over the landscape. Not far away from Nick stood a shadowy figure in a dark robe. The hood of his robe covered his entire head and made the figure look deadly sinister. In his hands the man carried a tall ancient looking sword. It was completely quiet around them; the rest of the world seemed to have disappeared. There was only the mysterious hooded man that stood there without any movement. No matter what he tried, Nick couldn't get his eyes away from the dark figure. The frightening picture burned into his brains. Even when he woke up in his flat in London he still saw the ghostly image in front of him. A nagging headache and a nauseous feeling got hold of him as Marshal shuffled to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water. The voices from his dream still spooked through his mind and he felt an oppressive fear as he closed eyes again only to fall into dreamless sleep.


	4. Silent Witness

Silent Witness

**Silent Witness**

The murderer of Richard Schultz had a strong passion for the dark. When the day came to an end and the sun got shielded by the night he felt most delighted. The dark gave him cover and concealment, the dark made his enemies weaker, the dark swept up his traces.

"The night is my ally", said the murderer satisfied as he drove through the streets of London. It was past midnight and there wasn't much traffic.

The man drove calmly and always under the speed limit. He even stopped for a red traffic light if there weren't any other cars to be seen. Like a shadow he slid through the night not attracting any attention.

The image of the car shortly reflected in the windows of Ray's Bistro. It was the diner where Nick and Kurtis had met just a few days ago. The London CID was completely stuck in their investigation to the murder of Richard Schultz and the case slowly dropped on the list of priorities. Deliberately the killer had waited a few days before his next hit. Now he had lost some heat it was time to strike again.

The car came to a halt near a deserted construction site. The driver parked next to a wooden shed where builders would have their lunch during a work day. Normally the sound of pounding drills and concrete mixers was heard in places like this. Now all the machines silenced and a steady rain drummed down on the roof of the shed. The killer stepped out of the car and walked to the trunk. From there he took a large pile of fabric that looked like a quilt or a gown. He then disappeared behind the wooden fence that surrounded the site and climbed down some scaffolding into a large sandy pit. The bottom was at least ten meters lower and partly hidden in the shadows. Originally the pit was dug to build the foundations of the new building. But after builders discovered the remains of an ancient old temple the construction had been immediately suspended. The killer descended all the way down to the bottom of the pit and stood still just outside the entrance of a narrow tunnel that led deeper into the darkness. There he pulled the gown over his head and covered his face by pulling up the hood. The monk-like figure patiently waited with his eyes focussed on the dark passageway. It took about two minutes before a second person appeared on the scene. He came out of the tunnel and stood still as soon as he saw the man in the robe.

"There you are", he said and seemingly was relieved seeing the killer. "I thought we would meet inside the tunnel. Where are we now, actually?"

"Builders discovered the temple and it's now unearthed, we are somewhere in the centre of London."

The killer spoke soft and well articulated. During speech he hardly moved and did not look up.

"That's no good news", said the other man and pulled a difficult face. "They might discover that we are here. Not many of us are left, after everything that happened."

"We must be cautious", confirmed the killer. "Richard Schultz is already dead, who will follow?"

"Richard did not leave any traces", said the man nervously. "He was a cautious person, never kept confidential information on him. They can never find any information that will lead to me, I hope."

"Many people already have been killed", said the killer on the same sonorous tone. "From both sides."

"Some might still be alive", whispered the man. "But we don't know on whose side they are."

"In times like this we can hardly trust anybody", was the hooded man's commentary. "There is no leadership; the heart has been pulled out of our order. The one's left are in despair, looking for loose ends. Who says that I can actually trust you?"

The whole stance of the man changed and he frowned, examining the killer from top to toe.

"Who do you think you are challenging? If you cannot trust me, then why should I trust you?"

"Indeed", said the killer slowly. The action that followed all happened in a matter of seconds. Before the man realised what happened the killer pulled a long sword from under his cloak. Its steel blade glimmered in the moonlight and a rustling sound was heard as the ancient weapon cut through the air.

"Who the hell are you?!" yelled the man before the sword hit him in the side. Groaning of pain he grabbed the wound and saw blood streaming through his fingers. A second later the cold steel was thrust through his lungs and the murderer twisted the weapon round almost cutting his opponent in half. His mutilated body fell on the ground, made an oppressive spasm and vomited a large amount of blood before it completely silenced. The murderer pulled the sword back and wiped off the blade. Then he brushed his hand through the puddle of blood and drew something on a nearby wall.

The next morning the blood had dried and a team of forensic experts took photos of the mysterious symbols.

"An exact blueprint of the previous murder", said a uniformed policeman to Nick Marshal who stood near and overlooked the crime scene.

"You just tell me the facts", said Marshal grumpily. "We will decide for ourselves if this is an exact blueprint or not."

The policeman silenced and handed Nick a little booklet.

"I'm sorry sir; I just noticed the similarity and thought you'd be interested to hear it. This is a notebook the victim had in his pocket."

Nick yanked the notebook from the man's hands.

"No, I'm not interested to hear what you think of it. Now leave me alone and do something useful."

Marshal was again suffering from a nasty headache and the coffee he bought earlier was tepid. He put the plastic cup on a nearby wooden pallet and produced a small umbrella from the pocket of his coat. It was raining constantly the last few days and the temperature dropped below summer standards. "Nick, don't be such an arse to other people." It was Jason who joined him and looked over his shoulder at the notebook.

"Did we finally find something useful then?"

"We might", said Nick and quickly browsed through the pages. Suddenly he stopped and his finger rested at a page somewhere in the middle. The victim had scribbled down a name and a telephone number.

"I'll be damned", said Jason and leaned on Nick's shoulder. "He's a friend of Schultz."

Nick slapped the booklet shut and put it in his pocket.

"Now we finally have a lead. By the way, I thought this was a construction site? I didn't see any builders on my way here. Do they have a day off? We must talk to the person who was in charge of it."

"That's the strangest thing", said Jason. "I told you about this place earlier remember? They found this temple and had to stop all the construction work and hand it over to a group of archaeologists. Now, I just spoke to someone from the university who was in charge of this. They stopped digging after four days because people were complaining about health problems. Some of them got headaches or felt extremely nauseous after working down here. Bit of an odd story really."

Nick frowned and took a sip from his coffee.

"That's very odd indeed. I have a headache too, but that's already since I woke up."

Jason examined his friend from top to toe and shook his head in disapproval.

"You again don't look very well, Nick. You really must lay off the coffee and alcohol a bit."

"You finish my coffee then", was Nick's reply. "Do we have any traces of were both victim and killer came from? I saw some of the boys busy with those tracks in the mud."

"Yes, one of them came here by car last night. However we don't know if that was the killer or the victim. No, I don't want your coffee. You drink it without milk, I can't stand that."

"The other one perhaps came from there?" asked Nick and pointed at a fissure in the temple wall from where a tunnel seemed to stretch out into the dark.

"That's how I like my coffee, black as the night. You don't taste it if you put milk in it. Same goes for chocolate; I always want dark chocolate with that pure bitter taste."

As Nick continued his explanation the two men walked to the tunnel opening.

"So you also like the Ecuador Dark?" asked Jason with a smirk. But a confused face from Nick was his response.

"That's an ice-cream", Jason explained.

"I don't eat ice-cream", said Nick curtly and shook his head over so much ignorance.

"I wonder where this tunnel ends up; this temple must be ages old."

They walked together through the darkness, and just as things started to get a little spooky a light appeared ahead of them. When the two detectives came closer they saw it was an electric light attached to the wall of a tunnel that passed rectangular with their path. Jason was the first to poke his head into the second passage.

"Nothing special", he said as his eyes travelled around. But then he looked down at his feet.

"Rails… we are in a subway tunnel."

A cold shiver ran down Nick's spine as he realised how similar this was to the nightmare he had a while back. He had been walking through an empty subway tunnel to end up in a temple. Only in his dream it had been the temple Kurt and he had found in Iraq. More confusion got hold of him as he came to think of something else; this temple was exactly the same as the one in the desert that many years ago. Also that time in Iraq some of the soldiers developed health problems.

"If he sneaked in here through the Underground system he can be anywhere now", said Jason who had not noticed anything of his partner's stressful moments.

"Let's return before we get hit by a train."

Later that day everyone was gathered again at the police station to discuss the development of the murder cases. The first results came in after investigation of the victim's personal belongings. His name was Lars Wolf and he was somehow acquainted with Richard Schultz. But again there was nothing clear about the identity of both men and the reason they were killed.

In the evening Nick Marshal sat in the Underground back home again and stared at his own reflection in the window. As the train sped through the tunnel Nick came to think he might passed the place where Jason and he were walking earlier that day. It was an interesting thought, but he was too tired to occupy his mind with it. The sonorous sound of the train's engine made Nick woozy and he slowly dozed off a little. Just as his eyelids fell a strange voice inside his head woke him up again.

"Of course not, the great work will be finished."

Marshal immediately opened his eyes again and felt his heartbeat speeding up. At the same moment his reflection in the window changed for a second and he saw the sinister white face from his dream again.

"Everything ok? I didn't want to alarm you." A man sat on the seat next to him and rested his hand at Marshal's knee. It was Kurtis Trent.

"No, everything is fine", said Nick and tried to smile. "It's been a long day and I dozed off for a bit."

Kurtis brushed a strand of hair from his face and his leather jacket creaked.

"It has been a long day for me as well; I've been doing some real sleuth work."

The mercenary rested one foot on his knee and looked at Nick waiting for a reaction.

"Lars Wolf was killed yesterday, right?" he asked when his friend did not seem to react.

The policeman nodded.

"That's right, what do you know about it?"

"Richard Schultz and Lars Wolf were two of the few remaining members of a secret order", explained Trent.

"I don't know exactly how many of them are still left alive, only that I'm one of them."

He took a lighter with the smiley emblem of Nirvana on it and let it flip casually through his fingers.

"Are you trying to say that you might be the next victim?" Nick straightened his back and looked astonished at Kurtis.

"And this secret order, why didn't you tell me about that before? You must go and talk to the police now, I will take you with me tomorrow, tonight if I have to."

"Nick, you are not seeing things in perspective", said Kurtis with a hushing tone.

"The enemy we are dealing with is not an everyday psycho killer you can arrest and lock up. I'm talking about something that has been evil through time, evil through history. It's like a plaque that radiates death wherever it wants. I wish I could tell you more about it but the less you know the safer it is. Together we can do something about this. Here, take a look at this."

He put a folder on Nick's lap with a few sheets and a photo in it, held together with a paperclip. Nick furrowed his brow and browsed through the dossier.

"Marten Gunderson", he read and looked at the photo of a sturdy bald man.

"Who is that?"

"I used to work for him", explained Kurtis.

"He was also connected with the Cabal and the business in Prague. I suspect him to be responsible for the killings also, you could pay him a visit."

Nick Marshal looked up from the paperwork.

"Why do you want me to do it? Can't you go yourself?"

"I'd like to", said Kurtis and coughed. "But you know this injury of mine."

He pointed at his chest and pulled a painful face expression.

"I still can't even walk normally."


	5. Blue Murder

Blue Murder

**Blue Murder**

It was Sunday and Nick Marshal was off duty. Only in case of emergency or any breakthrough discovery he could be contacted to report at the police station. Nick did not have any interests or hobbies to occupy himself with in his free time. His profession was the only thing he really lived for, and accordingly he didn't get his mind off the business when locking the door of his office. This Sunday morning he had been reading through autopsy reports and interviews with possible witnesses of the murder at the archaeological dig. But after a few hours Nick's eyes started to get itchy and he got nauseous of all the coffee he was drinking. Assuming that some fresh air would do him good Marshal left the house to have a walk in the nearby park. The weather was mild and for the first time in days it did not even rain constantly. In the park hung a pleasant smell of wet grass and pinewood, some people sat on benches to feed the pigeons, and children played at the lawn. Nick recharged himself with fresh oxygen and tried to rest his mind as he gazed upon the peaceful scenery. Unwillingly though his thoughts went back to the nightmares. The man with the pale face, the man in the hooded gown, the temple ruins, Nick couldn't get rid of the images. The boys who searched Schultz' computer had found something about Obscura engravings. Two days ago Nick had paid a visit to the library to search about these engravings. Apparently they were engraved copies of five Obscura Paintings which were created in early medieval times. These paintings were hidden in five vaults located in five different cities. It was not difficult to make a connection with the temples here and in Iraq, but that left three locations in limbo. Kurtis Trent had mentioned Prague as where he had ran into some trouble. Trent knew a lot more then what he said. But he had his reasons not to talk very much. His work as mercenary made it too dangerous for him to get in touch with police. Nick had a strong passion for justice and a feeling of loyalty to his job, but as well to his friendship with Kurtis. At the moment he was balancing on a thin line between those two.

Nick woke up from his thoughts when suddenly the sky turned dark and raindrops started to drop down. In rapid speed the rain got worse and people rushed out of the park shielding themselves with newspapers or anything else they could find. Nick found some shelter under a large tree and waited till the worst bit of the shower was over. Then he went back on the streets and disappeared in the closest subway station. For a moment Marshal pondered over what he could do, but then he remembered the papers in the pocket of his coat. It was the little portfolio of Marten Gunderson, quickly folded together and stuffed in his pocket for later use. Kurtis had scribbled a few facts about the man and included an address in London where he ran a small protection racket. The place was not so far from where Nick was now; he could be there in less then an hour if he took the underground. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Nick got curious and didn't know anything else to do today.

The train was overcrowded and Marshal had to stand for the first twenty minutes. Only at West Ham a lot of people got out, mostly football fans. When the vehicle arrived at the right station it was almost empty and Nick was one of the few that got out. His pants and coat had dried up somewhat but now felt very cold. He shivered and wished he wouldn't get a cold the next day.

Outside on the street a chilly breeze blew through the gloomy neighbourhood. It was one of the poorer parts of the city with a lot of council houses and abandoned buildings. The protection racket of Marten Gunderson was located in an old health clinic somewhere in between the apartment blocks. The roads weren't properly looked after and also the pavement was full of cracks and potholes.

Nick found the way to the old clinics through a crumbled alley between two houses. Grass was growing between the bricks and the iron grating made a screeching sound as the detective pushed it open. He found himself at a courtyard of some kind with trees and bushes growing everywhere. A gravel path led up to a dull concrete building with many windows and a large entrance door. Most of the windows were smashed and the sign above the entrance was partly crumbled.

Nick could just read 'West London' and 'clinics', in a style that was used in the late 1930s. Probably the place had been empty since the war and never put in use again. A brand new lock was put on the door but not a doorbell was to be seen.

Nick knocked with his fist on the door and a hollow sound echoed at the other side. A pigeon flew out of a window on the top floor. For a moment it remained silent but then the door opened up and a short but sturdy looking guy blocked Nick's way inside.

"What do you want?" he said curtly. The man was bald and had a dark moustache and goatee. He wore some scruffy looking jeans and a wifebeater.

"I want to see Marten Gunderson if that's possible", said Nick firmly but polite. He shivered by the sight of the metal chain and silver earrings the guy was wearing. Marshal hated jewellery.

The guy that looked much like a football hooligan or a bouncer led the policeman inside where some more people were seated in the central hall. Some were busy putting chairs and tables in place; others rested on a dirty looking blue sofa and drank beer.

"We moved in here just a bit ago", said the guy when he noticed Nick examining his surroundings. "Our chef had business in Prague and Munich but had to move premises. You wanted to see him?"

Nick decided not to reveal being a policeman; you never knew how such people would react on it. And officially he wasn't even on duty so it wouldn't be smart in any way.

"Yes, I have some work for him, possibly. Where can I see him?"

"He doesn't meet up with just everybody", said another man.

"Can we see your papers please?"

Nick produced a regular identity card and shortly waved it in the air.

"Want to see this?"

"No, we are not interested to see those. To meet up with the gaffer you must have different papers."

It took Nick a second to understand what the man meant, but then he opened his wallet and produced two notes of ten pounds.

"These papers will do?" he asked.

The man pocketed the money.

"Excellent negotiations. Did you notice this used to be a health clinic? Doctor Gunderson sees his patients on the first floor, the fifth door from left."  
The guy in the wifebeater laughed loud over his own joke and the other men joined in. Nick managed to produce a smirk and casually saluted the men.

"Thanks."

The policeman's footsteps made an echoing sound on the stone steps as the climbed the stairs. The iron handrail creaked and almost gave way. It was a very old building with high ceilings and construction material that wasn't seen in modern lots anymore. On the first floor was a long hallway with doors on one side and high windows on the other. Bright daylight fell on the square tiled floor and a gust of wind made an eerie sound through a hole in the ceiling. It was remarkably quiet in the building apart from footsteps on the stairs or voices that were heard now and then from behind one of the many doors. Nick felt a little uncomfortable walking around in a place that seemed to be closed off and forgotten by the rest of the city. He had turned left from the stairs as instructed and now stood still in front of the fifth door. An iron trolley stood near, it looked like something the nurses had used to bring clean sheets or medical equipment to the different rooms. Now it was stacked with papers, a few packs with cans of beer, two wooden crates, and a box of 9mm ammunition.

Nick knocked on the door and patiently waited for Marten Gunderson to let him. He didn't know exactly how long he waited before he knocked again. But when at least a minute had passed Nick became too anxious and opened the door himself.

He entered a room of about twenty square meters. A large desk stood in the middle and filling cabinets flanked each other at the back wall. The central courtyard was visible through a window behind the desk. The walls were decorated with maps of London and other cities and in a corner stood a small blackboard scribbled full of names and arrows.

Marten Gunderson sat at the central desk and his forehead rested on a piece of paper he just had been writing on. A large amount of blood was spilled over the table and dripped on the carpet below.

"Fuck..", whispered Nick and he couldn't stop his voice from trembling. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he felt his hands getting wet.

From this moment he was in serious trouble.

Marshal quickly regained control over himself and cautiously walked to the dead body. Despite the wound he could easily recognise Marten Gunderson from the photo Kurtis had given him. He even wore the same blue coat. The paper in front of him had an address written on it but Gunderson was leaning on the sheet with his full weight. Nick finally just tore the piece with the writing off and slipped it into his pocket. The man who possibly had carried a lot of valuable information was shot through the back of his head with a regular firearm. The killer had been standing near the window and had caught Gunderson by surprise. Nick walked to the blackboard and studied the names that had been written there. It reminded him of a crime tree he often drew during his work as detective to understand the different relations between all the main players of a case. From Gunderson's messy handwriting he recognised Kurtis Trent, someone called Joachim Karel, and a Pieter van Eckhardt.

The latter had been crossed out as if he didn't fit in the picture anymore. However, a line from Eckhardt went to a person or group that got described as 'minions'. Nick made a mental note of the information written and turned his attention to an escape plan. Back through the main hall was not safe, this murder had not been taking place longer then twenty minutes ago, something was going on. Marshal dashed out of the office and ran further into the hall, away from the central staircase. He ran fast but tried not to make to much noise. From upstairs he heard people talking loudly, something had caught their alert. Nick stood still at a corner and peered around the wall. Another long hallway stretched out and at the end he could see a pack of Gunderson's henchmen standing near the stairs. "Where did the intruder go?" asked one of them. They all had their weapons drawn but didn't look in Nick's direction.

"At the yard! At the yard!" yelled someone from downstairs and immediately the four men stormed downwards. Nick took the opportunity to calmly walk down the hall. In the distance he heard shooting now and more yelling voices. Suddenly his eye caught a large open window that looked out over a narrow alley between the clinics and the houses on the street side. He didn't think twice but swung his legs over the windowsill and carefully lowered himself with his back to street. Finally he hung with his hands from the window and let go, only to make a rough landing on a few metal trashcans. The empty cans rolled through the alley with an awful lot of noise but nobody seemed to take notice. Half crippled Nick limbed away from the clinics and back to the street. Just as he entered the subway station he saw a black Aston Martin speeding away from where he just came. With screeching brakes the vehicle disappeared around the corner.


	6. Waking The Dead

Waking the Dead

**Waking the Dead**

From the underground station Nick Marshal tried to phone his friend and colleague Jason David. The phone had not been even turned on yet today and Nick patiently waited for the main menu to load. He flicked to Jason's number in the phonebook and waited for the call to be answered. It took a while but then he heard Jason's familiar voice at the other side of the line. It seemed he was standing in a crowd.

"Nick, is that you?" he asked a little disturbed and Nick got the impression he was irritated.

"Where have you been for Christ sake? I invited you today to come to the match, remember? We have been waiting for you the whole time. Couldn't you even phone to tell what was keeping you up?"

Nick was a little overwhelmed.

"What? Oh the match, I'm sorry mate… Hey listen to this, I…"

But Jason interrupted him rudely.

"No I'm not going to listen; you listen to me for once. I left my daughter at home today to take you to the match. I've been worried over you, did you know that? You are killing yourself with your lifestyle; I wanted to take you out of that misery. But if you don't care, if you just don't give a damn what other people do for you, then drop dead. I'm tired of you Nick, it's always the same. If you want to spoil your life, go ahead. But don't drag me into it and don't come telling I didn't want to help you. My day is ruined now, thanks a lot."

Nick still wanted to say something but Jason had switched the phone off. A little confused he stared at the display before hauling his shoulders and putting the phone in his pocket. Why did Jason make such a scene? First Nick tried to pretend he didn't care, but soon he felt a knot in his stomach and the words of Jason kept repeating in his head. Jason was normally a nice and easygoing person, he was really angry now and that, if he wanted or not, made Nick upset.

From the train he made another phone call, but this time to Kurtis. He told the whole story of what took place at Gunderson's hideout and agreed to meet somewhere to visit the address Nick had found on the desk. Half an hour had passed since Nick phoned when Kurtis arrived at the scene in his Rover. Marshal let himself in and settled down at the passenger seat next to his friend.

"Hello."

Kurtis only nodded shortly and immediately drove on, he seemed worried and nervous.

"Are you sure that Gunderson was killed only a little while ago?" he asked without looking at Nick.

The policeman nodded firmly as he searched for his seatbelt. Kurtis' car had an interior completely made out of leather and wood. Inside it smelled like typical male perfume and the smoke of his Lucky Strike cigarettes.

"I have seen enough crime scenes in my career to be certain over that. It seems our killer has changed his tactics, he does not use a melee weapon anymore and also strikes in daylight."

Kurtis steered the car through the streets of London, heading for the address where they perhaps would find out more.

"That's what worries me so much", explained Trent. "It means something happened to the murderer, maybe he suspects something. He is showing unexpected behaviour, and that makes him more dangerous. But there is also another possibility, maybe the person who murdered Gunderson is not the same as the one who killed my brothers Schultz and Wolf."

Nick silenced and secretly became a little scared of the way he was getting involved in this. Kurtis was part of the whole conspiracy that seemed to lurk behind these murders. Instead of investigating things with him he should contact someone else from the CID. But that would put Kurtis in danger at this moment. Perhaps he could just have a look at the house and contact his colleagues later.

It was raining again when the car stopped in a seemingly normal street. Kurtis took out the paper Nick had given to him and checked the exact number of the house.

"Do you think the killer lives here?"

Nick hauled his shoulders as he opened the door and stepped outside in the rain.

"He obviously had written it down not long before the murderer shot him. At least it could be connected with our case."

Together the two men walked through the rain and checked the mailboxes to find the right number. "You'd think the murderer would take the paper before making himself scarce", said Kurt.

"It's a too obvious clue to leave behind. Don't you agree?"

"Maybe", said Nick skeptically. "But it wasn't easy to take that paper from under Gunderson's body; it took me a little moment as well. Don't forget that the killer was in a hurry."

"Or the address is not at all relevant and we're standing here for nothing", added Kurt cynically and stood still in front of letterbox number 23.

"It's here then."

The two men walked up to the front door and Kurtis tried to look through the window. It was completely dark inside and nobody seemed to be home. Nick eventually pressed the doorbell but that did not result in anything.

"Is it easy to get round the back at this type of houses?" he asked and looked for a way around the lot to the backyard.

"I have a better idea", said Kurtis and started to search in his pockets. He produced a paperclip and pulled it into one long thread with a little hook at the end.

"If we are lucky I can do it this way", he said and a roguish smirk appeared on his face. For a while he was busy and Nick tried to find shelter in the porch for the increasing amount of rain pouring down from the sky. Finally Trent managed to open the door and cautiously the two men went inside. First it was dark in the narrow hallway, but with a flick of the switch a little light bulb illuminated the place. "You check the kitchen, I will go for the living room", whispered Kurtis. Nick nodded and sneaked ahead into the small kitchen. It was simply decorated with a sink, fridge, old fashioned cooker and a wooden table with two chairs. Some pots and pans hung from a rack on the wall and a radio stood in the broad windowsill. Nick quickly skimmed through the drawers and cupboards but couldn't find anything suspicious. He walked back to the hallway and went into the living room.

"Kurtis? Did you find anything useful?"

The ex-Legionnaire stood with his back turned to Nick checking out a large cupboard in a corner of the room. Marshal joined him and his eyebrows rose up when he saw what Kurt was looking at. Inside the cupboard hung a dark hooded gown and against the sidewall rested a large medieval sword, still dirty with the blood of the previous murder.

"Damn… we've got him Kurtis; this is the house of the killer", stated Nick and examined the weapon.

"If it was him leaving the crime scene in West London", said Trent. "Then he can't be too far away now."

Nick had turned away from the cupboard and looked around the rest of the room. Also here it looked like a simplistic design, a sofa and two chairs stood in the middle and a small desk near the wall. A television was nowhere to be seen and the only electronic equipment was an old record player standing next to a bookcase. In front of the sofa stood a coffee table with a full ashtray, a packet of Lucky Strikes and a lighter with the Nirvana emblem on it.

Nick Marshal found himself staring at the objects at the coffee table for two seconds that seemed to pass like hours. In his rational mind the connection was easily made, but emotionally he did not get to the truth yet. In slow-motion his head turned to Kurtis, but Nick's friend suddenly looked at him with very different eyes. The cold and determined eyes of a madman, a human predator ready to attack. Before Nick could produce a word he felt a painful blow against the back of his head and he fell unconscious on the floor.

It was dark around him when he woke up. A piercing headache made him grunt and close his eyes again. Nick breathed slowly and tried to order his memory, he was in a moving vehicle now and his hands got tied behind his back. After a minute or so he tried to open his eyes again and carefully look around. He was sitting in Kurtis' Rover and next to him sat the demon hunter himself.

"Kurtis…", muffled Nick with a dry throat. "What is going on..?"

Trent turned his head to Nick and produced a satisfied yet devilish smirk.

"Ah, you woke up. We are almost at our destination. I was worried for a moment that you wouldn't make it."

"Kurtis", whispered Nick, "you killed Schultz and Wolf. Why did you do that?"

"There is an awful lot of things that you don't understand my dear friend", said Trent mysteriously. "But I will try to explain it to you. Did you ever read the bible?"

Nick shook his head and Kurt continued.

"In the first book, Genesis, it's described how the Nephilim once inhabited the earth. This is not just a fancy fairytale but a true thing. The Nephilim are a race of higher beings, they were the last stage of perfection after us humans, human race version two point zero if you want. With their superior intelligence and physical power they were destined to be the dominant species on earth. Lucky for us they all died in the Great Flood. All but a few. Those few have ever been trying to survive and reclaim their status. Often they received help from humans, like Pieter van Eckhardt the black alchemist and his followers. Even today they strive to awake the dead."

"The Cabal?" asked Nick, he had been listening attentively, not sure what to think of it all.

"Very good Nick", said Kurt sarcastically.

"For centuries the Cabal has tried to revive the Nephilim. Through alchemy, sorcery and witchcraft they terrorized the existence of mankind. For just as long the Lux Veritatis has tried to stop them. My order is an offshoot of the Knights Templar but don't think of us as holy and good. From the outside we might appear as fighters of evil or soldiers of God. But our roots are as black as the Cabal itself. There has never been such thing as good or evil, only us and the Nephilim. The Lux Veritatis are the defenders of the human race and our mission is the destruction of the Nephilim and everyone that supports them."

During his speech Kurt began to speak louder and faster at every word that he furiously spat out of his mouth. His eyes were glowing like burning charcoals in the shaded car; his whole attitude spoke a message of pure hate and frustration.

"Didn't you ever learn in history lesson about witch burning?" he continued. "We beheaded them, drowned them, and exposed them to the cruelest forms of torture. Everything we did to get rid of the inferior minds that brought our kind in danger."

Nick silenced and didn't want to look at Kurtis anymore; he got scared of his friend who now seemed to have turned in a complete different person. Kurtis had thrown off his mask and showed who he really was. But yet Nick didn't understand everything of what happened in the past few days.

"But why Richard Schultz and Lars Wolf?" he asked without turning his head away from the window.

"Don't you understand?" asked Kurtis angrily.

"Wolf and Schultz were minions of Pieter van Ekchardt, members of the Cabal. I was dealing with them in the aftermath of what happened in Prague. Everything went well, until you came along with your police investigation. I decided to use it in my advantage and twisted the truth a little. The only thing I didn't plan was the murder of Gunderson; I don't know who killed him."

The car was still speeding through the night and according to what Nick could see through the window it seemed they were somewhere near a harbor. Suddenly Kurtis turned the wheel and drove into some industrial terrain with docks and warehouses. In a dark alley next to a large amount of freight containers Trent parked the car and the engine silenced.

"What are we going to do here?" asked Nick.

Kurtis didn't say anything but leapt out of the car and then dragged Nick with him. The police detective was still cuffed on hands and ankles and could barely walk.

"You are too damn correct Nick", grumbled Kurtis as he pulled his former wartime buddy to a nearby warehouse.

"That's where we differ, you always want to follow morals, fight against injustice. Well I have news for you, there is no justice. There is only necessity, and necessity for me is to seek revenge for my father and destroy every Nephilim or Cabalist that walks this earth!"

Kurtis was fanatically yelling now and Nick hoped that someone would hear them and help him out of this situation.

"Help me!" he suddenly cried out. The response was a punch against his face from Kurtis.

"Shut the hell up Nick. If you want to help me then just do what I say."

Trent opened the door to the warehouse and rudely pushed Nick inside. Marshal stumbled over and fell on the cold stone floor. They were in an almost empty storage place with only some crates and a forklift standing in a corner.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Nick, almost begging.

"Because I can't trust you", said Kurtis. "You'd choose for justice instead of loyalty to a friend. Maybe you protected me until now, but I know there'd be a moment where you would fail me."

Trent piled up a few crates just below a wooden collar beam. Only now Nick noticed a gibbet dangling from the same beam. He felt an ice cold feeling penetrating his stomach, and his nerve system seemed to fail dealing with the fear that now came over him.

"Kurtis…! You can't..." he brought out as his voice almost got stuck in his throat.

But without hesitation the Lux Veritatis warrior grabbed his old friend from the floor and lifted him on the crates. Nick was too paralyzed of shock to do anything. The noose was brutally put around his neck and Kurtis took a few steps backwards.

"You were known by everyone as a lonely person struggling with personal problems. If anyone finds you here, they'll probably guess you committed suicide. I'm sorry Nick, but there is no other way out. You are sacrificed in the war against the Cabal, once the result will be the total annihilation of the Nephilim race."

Kurtis ran to the exit but just before disappearing he turned around and made a flick with his right hand in the air. As by magic the wooden crates were pushed away from under Nick's feet.

The victim wildly kicked his legs around in the air and tried to break loose but in a matter of seconds it was over.

Kurtis didn't stand by to watch Nick die, but turned around and stepped outside the warehouse again. From his car he retrieved some personal belongings and then left the vehicle alone. He was not far from the waterside and could smell the salt air of the sea. Not noticing the black Aston Martin standing near he walked down the jetty until he came upon a small boathouse. A yacht was waiting for him inside, quietly bobbing in the calm water. Trent stepped aboard and retrieved the keys of the cabin from his pocket. However, to his surprise the door was already open. He stepped inside to see what was going on, only to find himself being held at gunpoint.

In front of him stood Lara Croft putting a 9mm in front of his nose.


	7. Trial And Retribution

Part Two

_**Part Two**_

**Trial and Retribution**

Quivering of exhaustion Lara fell through the last door of her horror trail out of the Strahov fortress. As it slammed shut behind her the woman dropped half on her knees and stumbled down the few stone steps that were leading down to the streets. A cold wind grabbed her in an icy strangling grasp and the fresh air almost hurt as she breathed through her nose.

About the whole night she had been inside that hellish complex. Lara's hands rested in the snow and she groaned trying to stand up again. A nagging pain appeared somewhere between her shoulders and as she stood up it lowered down her spine. Lara pinched her jaws together and tried to ignore it. But she felt like every muscle in her body had just snapped and couldn't function anymore.

Lara felt dizzy and the sounds and images of the past few hours repeated inside her mind like a broken record. When another spell of dizziness hit her, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe in calmly. The chirugai blade fell out of her hands and dropped on the pavement. It made a disturbing clattering noise in the silence of the night. But then suddenly she heard another sound, from somewhere far away. A few blocks down a sonorous tone appeared and came closer.

Only when flashing red and blue lights reflected in the show Lara realised it was the police. Two squad cars arrived at the scene, soon followed by third. The doors opened up and several policemen surrounded her. About four of five guns were pointed at Lara. Everything was suddenly bathing in light and noise. Aggressive instructions were yelled at her in a language she didn't understand. Lara felt so dizzy now that her head was spinning round and she wanted just to collapse right were she stood. Memories of police chases in Paris lay shattered through her head like photographs of a forgotten past. "I'm innocent..", was the only thing she could say.

Her voice was hoarse and could hardly be heard in the chaos of the moment.

"I'm innocent; the real murderer is inside the building... him you must take... not me."

A pack of policemen in special protective gear stormed out of the third car. They charged at Lara and knocked her against the ground. Croft fell hard with her chin on the asphalt. A strong pain pierced through her neck and she tasted warm blood in her mouth. Lara's arms got rudely yanked behind her back and tightly cuffed. Two hands searched her body and took away the weapons she was carrying. Then someone pulled her up and two of the policemen escorted her to a squad car.

A door opened up and she was pushed inside on the back seats. Still recovering from the violent act she noticed that a man came to sit next to her. He was short and balding, had a moustache and a weathered face. He closed the door of the car and the vehicle drove away.

"Ms Croft, can you hear me?" He spoke English with a French accent.

"I'm inspector Clouseau from the Parisian police department", the man continued when Lara nodded shortly.

"You are under arrest for the murders on Werner Von Croy, Margot Carvier, Daniel Rennes, Louis Bouchard, Matthias Vasily and Petr Luddick. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense."

Those words were the last Lara remembered when she woke up in a small police cell somewhere in a station in Prague. She lifted her head from an uncomfortable looking bench and tried to remember what happened. Croft noticed a kind of disinfecting taste in her mouth and carefully rubbed her jaw. It was all thick and swollen on one side. Her clothes were dirty from sweat, dirt and water.

All she longed for right now was a hot shower and some food. The woman had been sitting for a while slowly gathering her memories as the door opened up. Inspector Clouseau stood in the opening with two uniformed policemen.

"Will you come with me Ms. Croft? We have some things to talk about."

Lara followed the men to an interview room. It was a gloomy looking chamber with only a table and four chairs standing in the middle. The place was lit by a small light bulb on the ceiling.

"Take a seat", said the Frenchman politely.

"Do you want to drink something? I have tea for you, with milk." He placed a tacky looking plastic cup in front of her nose with extremely milky tea.

"No thank you", was Lara's short reaction. "I don't want any tea. Maybe some water."

"I thought you British always drank tea with milk", said Clouseau. The bitter sarcasm was dripping from his voice. He sat down and grinned in a bullying sort of way.

"I don't want any tea", Lara now snapped firmly and suddenly whacked the plastic cup of the table with the back of her hand. The contents of the cup fell over Clouseau's clothing and he bellowed of pain.

"You sick woman! Look what you have done!" He stormed off to clean himself up.

"Keep an eye on her!" he snarled at the two Czech police officers.

Lara sat down on one of the chairs before one of the policemen could attempt to push her onto it. With a deadly stare she sent them back to both sides of the door. A minute later the Frenchman came back still brushing off his pants with a paper towel.

"Don't pull of such capers again, I have very little patience with people like you", he said and took the chair to the opposite of Lara.

"For you information Ms. Croft, I haven't slept in two days since the murder on Professor Von Croy. It's good that the Czech police have been such great help or it would have been longer. Now, the aftermath of this drama is going to get rather complicated. You committed half of your crimes on French soil and the other half in the Czech Republic. It will cost some days of diplomatic struggle before we can get you out of here. Things will speed up however if you confess the murders and show the will to cooperate."

Lara listened patiently to the story but did not seem to be impressed.

"My official statement is that I'm not guilty", she said firmly. "Also, I want to speak to someone from the British embassy."

Clouseau looked at his watch.

"It's four o' clock in the morning; we will contact your embassy at a later time. What are you trying to get from this, Croft? Is it the guilt and frustration you feel over the innocent people you killed? You just miss the satisfaction of murdering, don't you? You people are the worst I have to deal with in my work. Now you are being cool and witty, but we will break you, and then you will cry like those other pathetic losers. Sure you will have excuses, a troubled youth, being bullied in school. When there's a few years less in prison at stake you sick bloodthirsty sadists are ready to drop some tears."

During talking the heavily sweating police inspector had stood up and walked around Lara. At every word he came a little closer and eventually he had his nose a few inches away from her ear. She could smell cheap tobacco and the stench of sweaty fabric.

"Why don't you give it up already?" he continued. "Be a brave girl for once."

At that moment he gave Lara the last push she needed to fall over the edge of self control. Furiously she jumped up from her chair and shoved Clouseau against the table. He tripped and almost fell on the ground. Before the two Czechs could assist Lara managed to punch him in the nose and deliver a firm kick in his ribcage. Then the two men grabbed her and she was cuffed again and brought back to her cell. Clouseau in the meantime, coughed oppressively and gasped for air while holding his hand against his bleeding nose.

"That woman is going straight to death row!" he yelled. "Lock her up in the most secured place of the station and let someone guard the door with a damn flamethrower!"

Back in her cell Lara tried to sleep a little but she didn't succeed. The place had not been cleaned in a long time and smelled indescribably dirty. Lara did not want to imagine what things had taken place here before she got locked up.

Later inspector Clouseau came back, he was flanked by two people from the uniformed police. He did not come closer then about two meters from her.

"If, as you imply, did not kill the people in Prague and Paris, could you then name the one we should go after?" he tried.

"Pieter van Eckhardt and Joachim Karel from the Czech mafia", said Lara.

"They are responsible for the killings. Van Eckhardt is dead; about Karel I'm not sure. I have files of them that Petr Luddick gave me; you can find them with the other belongings you took from me."

Clouseau nodded shortly.

"We have already been looking through the paperwork you carried with you. If you are right then the killings could have been a spree of liquidations in the criminal world. I heard from the Prague police department that they have been investigating this Mr. Van Eckhardt for a longer time. He could have been involved with a criminal gang in Paris led by Louis Bouchard. Still, it leaves me with the question how you got involved."

"Werner Von Croy was a friend of mine", explained Lara Croft. "When he was killed and I became the main suspect I tried to clear my name and find the actual killer."

"You must agree with me that this story will be butchered in court", said the Frenchman.

"Why wouldn't you talk with the police? Did you come all the way to Prague by yourself just to clear your name? It does sound unlikely."

Lara hauled her shoulders and looked away from her interviewer. Suddenly she seemed to remember something.

"Was I the only survivor you found?"

"So far, yes", stated Clouseau. "But there is a team searching the Strahov building right now."

He then handed Lara a paper and a pen.

"If you stay with your current statement I do not predict a successful trial, Ms. Croft. I still believe you have committed those awful crimes, and your behaviour towards me is not helping you either. Though if you could help us a little we might seek options to have your time in jail shortened a bit. Write down the names of other people involved in this case."

Lara yanked the paper from Clouseau's hands and quickly scribbled something on it.

"Marten Gunderson?" asked the Paris inspector when she returned the paper. "Who is that?"

"A mercenary", said Croft. "He and his organisation worked for the Czech mafia. That's all I know, plus the names you found in Luddick's files. Everyone else is dead anyway."

Clouseau gratefully took the paper with Gunderson's name.

"Thank you Ms. Croft. For the first time this night you made a wise decision."


	8. Daybreak

Daybreak

**Daybreak**

The sun was already appearing again when Lara finally fell asleep in her cell at the Prague police station. Almost two nights without sleep asked their toll of her weakened body. When the woman opened her eyes again she felt as if the executioners of hell had been tormenting her throughout the night. Every muscle seemed to hurt as Lara lifted her head and tried to stand up. At least she felt not tired anymore and could think with a clear mind.

Later that day a friendly gentleman from the British embassy came to visit her and gave her an update about the situation. As inspector Clouseau had told before there was a diplomatic war going on between England, France and the Czech Republic about the winding up of Lara's case. The whole matter seemed stagnant at the moment and perhaps could carry on for months. On the brighter side, Lara was able to contact her butler back home in Surrey and have him transfer the large sum of money needed to bail her out. For the time being she was free to go anywhere between the borders of the Czech Republic.

"Allow me to drive you to a nearby hotel", said Terry Bellamy. Lara and the English diplomat walked out of the police station. A chilly breeze made it uncomfortable outside, and the sky looked grey as far as the eye could reach.

"Do you also know a nearby clothing store?" asked Lara while she followed the man to his car.

"Wait, make that a department store. I might need some other things as well."

She looked at the chirugai in her hands. The police had given back all Lara's personal belongings except for the weapons she carried. Obviously they hadn't recognised Kurtis' blade as a weapon.

"The hotel I have in mind is situated in the centre of town", said Bellamy and pressed the button on his car key to unlock the doors.

"You will find all kinds of stores in the same street. Prague is a beautiful city, Lady Croft. Make the best of it while you are stuck here. God knows how long it will take before you can appear in court." Terry Bellamy was a calm and friendly person. He seemed about forty years of age, had short black hair, and sympathetic looking grey eyes.

Lara stepped inside the Mercedes with the red number plate and settled down at the passenger's seat. "Please call me Lara", she said and produced a tired but not unfriendly smile. A few seconds later the engine came to live and Bellamy steered his car from the hotel parking lot onto the street. Yesterday's snow had melted and now a slushy looking sleet came down from the sky.

From her window Lara could oversee the river Vltava and the many bridges connecting both sides of the Czech capital together. Bellamy was right about Prague being extremely beautiful, but Lara wasn't quite in the mood of appreciating it. After a twenty minute drive in silence they stopped in front of a four star hotel not far from the historical centre.

"Thanks for delivering me, Terry." Lara gathered her belongings together and shortly nodded to the driver.

"No problem Lara", he answered with a reassuring tone. "Take care of yourself and contact me whenever needed. Here is my card with the address and telephone number of the embassy. I wrote my mobile number on the other side."

Croft climbed out of the car and slid the business card in her back pocket. Carefully she climbed the stone steps up to the entrance of the hotel. A porter let her inside and she was welcomed in by the pleasurable warmth of the lobby. At the desk Lara checked in for a single room on the second floor with a view over the city. With the key in her hands she just wanted to approach an elevator when she heard a voice behind her back.

"Ms. Croft, can I speak to you for a moment?" The voice was nervously whispering as if it didn't want to be heard by anyone else.

Lara Croft turned around and saw a middle aged woman standing near the cloakroom. She seemed somewhat anxious and an uncanny look of fear was seen in her eyes.

"What do you want from me?" hissed the tomb raider.

"My name is Mary", said the woman, to Lara's surprise in a southern British accent. "I'm the widow of Matthias Vasily, the art dealer who got murdered earlier this week."

Croft took a step backwards and a suspicious frown appeared on her face.

"Look, I'm sorry for your loss. But you don't have to come to me; I have nothing to do with the murder."

The woman pushed a greeting card in Lara's hands.

"I know you are not the murderer, don't mention it. There are things going on that you don't know about, but we can help each other. Come and see me on this place when darkness falls. We cannot talk here; the information could come to the wrong ears."

Lara was too overwhelmed to squeeze anything into the conversation. She pocketed the card and looked back at Mary Vasily.

"What's going on? I thought…" But the woman interrupted her.

"Not here, please. See me at the location this evening. I will explain everything."

Then she turned around and left the lobby into the cold weather.

Lara kept looking until the woman disappeared out of eyesight, then she turned to the elevator to go upstairs to her room. When Lara arrived at the small but cosy looking room she pulled the card out of her pocket to see what was written on it. On the front side there was a photo of the skyline of Prague and something written in German. It looked like an ordinary postcard that probably was taken from the stand near the hotel reception. Lara remembered the stand had maps of city, greeting cards and leaflets in four or five different languages.

On the other side Mary Vasily had scribbled something down with a ballpoint. It was the name of a building or other landmark and a street.

Lara figured she could ask someone at the reception where she could find the place. Maybe it was nothing, or even worse, a trap. But the woman looked as someone who could be trusted, and Lara had the feeling she had not anything to loose anyway. She dropped most of her belongings on a table near the window and made herself a cup of tea with help of the cooker and box of Earl Grey that stood on the bedside table.

Lara was tired and most of all wanted to rest before she would go to meet up with Mary Vasily. But above all she felt the need to get some clean clothes and wash all the filth of three days of action from her body.

Fortunately Terry Bellamy had been right about the location of the hotel. The street was indeed packed with shops and stores of all kinds. Not more then an hour later Lara returned at her room with a full bag of new garment. She had bought herself two pairs of jeans, a few tops and underwear, a warm jumper, and a tight but thick winter coat. Relieved to finally get rid of her dirty outfit she happily threw it in the nearby dustbin. With nothing on she walked into the bathroom.

Lara's bare feet felt cold on the tiles of the shower cabin and a shiver ran over her skin before she turned on the hot tap. A sigh of relief left her as the warm water came down on her shoulders and ran down every cold spot. The cheap hotel shower gel washed off all the dirt and sweat, and the warmth that surrounded her made Lara feel pleasurably drowsy.

With a towel wrapped around herself she came out of the shower only after she couldn't stand on her legs anymore. The heating had been turned up and it was warm and comfortable inside the room. Completely exhausted Lara dropped on the bed and lay there snoozing for almost two hours.

When she opened her eyes and sat up again the twilight had set in outside.

Feeling a lot better Lara got dressed and took her most important belongings with her before getting downstairs to the lobby. Her hair was still a little wet so she pulled up the hood of her coat before getting out on the cold streets.

Before going to the shops she had asked were to find the location as described on the postcard. Assuming that Lara was German because of the language on the postcard the receptionist had told in German that the name was referring to the Priory of Saint Lawrence, or 'Vravinec' as Mary Vasily had it written down in Czech. The building was to be found in the historic centre and Lara could go there by tram. According to the receptionist the place was historically associated with the Knights Templar.

An old fashioned looking tram took her from a stop near the hotel over the river to another part of town. The twilight was setting in early, even for the time of the year, and a dark shroud seemed to cover the city as time passed by. Waiting for the tram to arrive at her destination Lara absentmindedly played with the postcard in her hand almost dropping it on the floor. Her hands were cold and it didn't take long before the warm feeling from the hotel room had been swept away from her entire body. With a sigh Lara shoved the postcards between the pages of Werner's notebook and dug her hands in the pockets of her new coat. Whenever at dull moments like this her mind started to wander through the memories of the last few days. From there it swiftly passed on to the things happened in Egypt and her state of mind before going to Paris to meet Werner.

Angrily shaking her head Lara tried to get rid of the gloomy thoughts and focus on the things that mattered today rather then in the past. She had noticed before that as long as she had something to do, something to keep herself busy with, the angst and doubts weren't aching so much. To keep going on was probably her only remedy.

The tram had arrived at the Priory of Saint Lawrence and Lara stood up to leave the vehicle. Around her women with shopping bags, bored looking students, and nervous tourists shifted seats or also headed for the exit. Lucky for Lara the stop was situated right across the street from the Priory. Cautiously she crossed the road looking up at the dull grey building that was half hidden behind the bare branches of a nearby tree. Right at that moment it started to rain again, or rather something that could be described as a hybrid of rain and snow.

Lara held up her hand and silently cursed the fact that she didn't bring an umbrella with her. She pulled up the hood of her coat again and looked around any sign of Mary Vasily. Pedestrians meanwhile kept on walking by as if nothing ever happened to the weather. A nearby newspaper stand advertised the headlines about a recent fire in the Strahov building and the arrest of the assumed killer of a local art dealer. The newspaper didn't show any pictures of the suspect but Lara was suddenly glad to be wearing the hood except for shielding herself from the rain.

"I figured we British are never short of an umbrella." The sudden voice behind her back made Lara turn around and, as by force of habit, move a hand to her hip ready to pull out a weapon. Fortunately for everyone she wasn't carrying any weapons. Behind her stood the widow of Mathias Vasily, holding out a spare umbrella.

"I'm sorry Ms. Croft I didn't mean to frighten you", she said and pulled her own umbrella up a little so Lara could see her face.

"Can you forgive me? I really shouldn't be pulling such kind of shenanigans in dangerous times like these. Believe me; you have every right to be scared when someone suddenly approaches you from behind. Did you have trouble finding the place? I would've brought you here if it would not attract so much attention."

Mary Vasily was talking fast and nervously, she continuously beat her eyelashes and breathed unevenly. Overall she made an extremely anxious and fearful impression.

Lara frowned a little and tilted her head a bit to the side.

"Are you ok?"

She knew it sounded a little blunt, but the way the woman was speaking to her really made Lara wonder if she was holding it all together.

However her words seemed to have a slight calming effect on her newly found companion. Mary nodded shortly and as her breathing eased off she smiled at Lara.

"Yes, thank you Lara Croft. I'm very happy that you came to see me. Shall we go somewhere dry?"

Lara took the umbrella and together they walked around the historic building to a small square at the other side of it. As far as it was possible from under the umbrella Lara tried to get a glimpse of the Priory. Mary had somehow noticed Lara's stare.

"I didn't agree to meet here just by coincidence", she said with a kind of proud tone in her voice. "This place used to be an important site for the Knights Templar. But I reckon that you with your experience knew that, am I right?"

Lara nodded shortly, before adding a quick 'yes' as she noticed Mary looking the other way and not able to see her nod. She had a general dislike of people behaving overly friendly before knowing her properly. Vasily's widow had a way of communicating that made Lara feel strangely uncomfortable.

"Why did you ask me to come?" she asked, trying to give a purpose to their meeting.

"Because you're probably the only person left I can trust, at least the only person that knows about everything that happened."

Mary started to walk faster and they crossed the square behind the Templar church. A couple of antique shops, cafes and small dingy houses were situated around a statue that stood in front of the Priory's entrance.

"When that professor from Paris, Werner Von Croy was killed I knew my husband was in danger. I read in the newspaper that you were the main suspect, but from the stories of Mathias I knew it couldn't be you. Mathias and his brother had warned me a long time ago for certain enemies, you surely were not one of them."

Lara frowned and shook her head. A lot of new facts were coming at her in too high speed right now.

"What enemies did your husband warn you for? And how was his brother involved in all of this?"

They had stopped in front of a patisserie and Mary gestured Lara to come inside. There was a small part of the shop with wooden tables and benches. The two women settled down in a shaded part of the establishment lighted by a small candle in the middle of the table.

"I live near", explained Mary. "We usually came to buy bread here, and in the weekend we had chocolate cake. You could try one with coffee, they make it really delicious."

"Oh right, yes…", said Lara who can felt a little unsettled about Mary's quick change from talking about the murders of Werner and her husband to something trivial as coffee with chocolate cake.

"What enemies you where asking me?" she indeed swiftly continued after they had placed their orders. "The enemies that you, I reckon, defeated inside the Strahov complex… who else could I mean?"

Lara could not remember meeting such complicated person in a very long time.

"I was asking that", she explained patiently, "Because it seemed unlikely to me that your husband already had knowledge of both Eckhardt and the other members of the Cabal. Mathias was just running an errand for Eckhardt, just as my friend Werner Von Croy, wasn't he?"

A waiter came by and placed a large coffee and a chocolate cake in front of Lara's nose. The same order was delivered to Mary Vasily who immediately paid for them both.

"But didn't you know?" the widow asked when the waiter was gone. "I thought my brother in law would've told you all about it."

Lara had just taken a swig of her coffee and now tried to swallow it as fast as possible without burning her mouth. She was starting to lose her temper.

"Where the hell would I have met your brother in law? I don't even know your brother in law. What are you talking about? You're trying to explain something but it's getting only more complicated."

Obviously this wasn't doing the nerves of Mary Vasily any favours. The woman started to breathe faster again and her lower lip trembled a bit.

"I'm sorry Lara, please let me try to explain it to you. It's just so difficult because I have I no idea what you know and what you don't know. Ok, let me start from the beginning. Do you know who the Lux Veritatis are?"

"Yes", said Lara a little too loud, glad there was finally something she understood. "Continue."

"My husband was a far descendant of the order. Together with his brother he was trying to prevent the Black Alchemist from obtaining the Obscura Paintings. Mathias was mostly doing that by the means of research in the art business and the market of historical objects. His brother was active underground across the world. I'm sorry about the confusion earlier, but I figured you had met him."

"I don't know any Vasily except Mathias", said Lara. "What was your brother in law's first name?"

Mary had calmed down again and was sipping from her coffee.

"Kurt", she said. "Kurt Vasily. He came to see me shortly after Mathias was murdered, told me that he'd go into the Strahov to finally bring an end to things. You didn't run into him by any chance? I wonder where he is now. Kurt always had a habit of disappearing for ages under some kind of alias, infiltrating in shady organisations…" She stopped talking and put her coffee cup back on the table. "Are you ok Lara? Did I say something wrong?"


	9. Crime Scene Investigation

**Crime Scene Investigation**

It was completely dark outside when they arrived at the site where Lara was arrested almost two days earlier. The police tape was gone and the entrances to the building were sealed off. The underground explosion after destroying The Sleeper had apparently damaged some of the supporting walls because part of the once so massive Strahov had collapsed.

"What do you hope to find here?" asked Maria. They stepped out of the taxi that drove them to the place and now stood still on the pavement. It had stopped raining but with the night approaching the temperature dropped. Perhaps it would start to snow again soon.

"Clues to Kurtis' whereabouts", explained Lara. "Kurt, I mean. Do you mind if I call him Kurtis?"

They walked to the main entrance and Lara investigated the door to see if she could force her way in.

"You can call him anything", said Maria remarkably indifferent. "He went by many names."

Lara quickly looked around if anyone was watching them and then gave the door a firm kick. Surprisingly easy it gave way and together the two women stepped inside. Lara recognised the place from her first entrance; it was the hallway next to the loading bay from where she had cut the power and entered the bio dome. That part of the building seemed now inaccessible however; the part of the corridor leading to the control room had collapsed and between her and the entrance to the dome was a gaping hole in the floor about twenty yards wide. Through it they looked straight into a lower hallway, flooded by water dripping in from a cracked wall, possibly the aquatic centre.

"I feel a little uncomfortable", said Maria and sniffed nervously. "Do you need me to tag along?"

"You can wait here if you want", said Lara, silently very happy that she could take a look by herself without that woman commenting on everything.

"I just want to see if I can get to the quarters where the security people used to be. The only person that made it out of this building alive, except for me and your husband's brother, was the head of their armed forces. He might be the link to where Kurtis is now."

Lara saw to it that the Vasily woman sat down on a nearby crate and then carefully climbed down into the pit. Her plan was to get down to the lower hallway and from there somehow up again to the quarters of Marten Gunderson's men.

The Cabal headquarters had never been a very merry place, but in its current condition the atmosphere had only become more eerie. Many lights were broken or flickering, walls had crumbled and pipes were sticking out of partly broken ceilings. Slowly she descended into the floor below, grabbing bricks and iron bars that stuck out of the broken concrete. It felt like being on a rescue mission for the victims of an earthquake. Finally she got down into the partly flooded hallway; the water surface was reaching just halfway her boots now but was increasing in rapid speed. She had to go through quickly before it'd come to the ceiling. Things would get really hairy if there wouldn't be a way up at the end of this corridor. And just as things did not seem to could get any harder another light stopped flickering and died. Almost completely left in darkness Lara started to proceed forwards.

"Good luck Lara!" called Maria from above. Lara pretended she didn't hear it and refused to answer.

In case there were still people around it wasn't a bright idea to start yelling.

It seemed fate was good to her for now though. After a few meters into the hallway it took a sharp turn and then a light was visible in the near distance. It seemed to illuminate a staircase leading upwards.

Lara continued walking, cautiously minding where she put her next step. She seemed to be closer to the source of the water now because the splashing sound of the leak became louder and the level of the water reached to her ankles now.

When she reached closer to the staircase however her heart suddenly skipped a beat. The shadow of the person standing at the landing made her forget about the pinching cold water that began soaking the lower bit of her pants. Careful not to alarm him she stood still and tried to make out who it was. The man was standing with his back turned to her, but more then a silhouette couldn't be seen from the place where Lara was standing. She continued forwards, trying not to raise her feet too high and make splashing sounds in the water.

Without drawing its attention she managed to reach the stranger to about a meter. Now she saw it was one of the blue suited men from the Strahov security. He had taken his head gear off and stood there smoking a cigarette, holding an automatic weapon casually in one hand. From where he stood the staircase led further upwards, concealed by a rickety framework, webbed with wire gauze. Warning signs and maintenance notes were hanging from it.

Lara didn't think too long but leapt forwards, clamped one hand around the guy's mouth and planted her knee in his back. He fell forwards, trying to break free for a moment, but then had his head slammed onto the floor and received a powerful blow against the temple.

Lara took his weapon and inspected it, a standard assault gun as most of those guys were carrying. She had been using them frequently during her first visit to this place.

For a bit she stood listening if anyone had heard her struggle with the guard, but apart from the streaming water and a ventilation duct in the distance it remained silent. Freed from the water hazard she jogged up the stairs till she apparently reached ground level again.

The staircase ended up in a t-junction, of which one side was collapsed and one was leading in the direction of the bio dome. The third gave access to three stone steps leading up to a door.

Lara had the feeling the collapsed hallway would take her to the site where she entered the security quarters last time. Hopefully the door was another entrance to it.

A moment later her theory proved true, but not in a way she would have preferred. The door burst open and a second Strahov guard came out, yelling something in Czech. Again Lara didn't waste time but released a short salvo from her newly equipped gun onto the Gunderson's subordinate. It blew him right back into the room he came from and killed him instantly.

She approached the body and stepped over it into the room, only to find a third man standing unarmed and looking rather spooked by the gunshots and Lara's sudden appearance.

"Stand right there!" barked Lara, somewhat affected by the adrenalin of handling so fast. "Are there any more of you around?" she continued, keeping the guy at gunpoint.

"Only down in the staircase", said the guard. He wasn't very old, Lara estimated him in his late twenties. "We came here only to retrieve some items, who are you?"

"That doesn't matter", said Lara sulkily. "I'm looking for your boss, Mr. Gunderson."

"He's not here anymore", said the young man. "He left yesterday for Munich. Are you Lara Croft?"

Lara ignored the question and gave him a stern look before continuing her interrogation.

"What is he doing in Munich? Do you know where Kurtis Trent is?"

"You don't need that weapon", said the Czech. "The Agency's contract with Mr. Van Eckhardt was declared terminated last night. Mr. Gunderson is in the main office in Munich to close everything down; we're under investigation and trying to lie low for a while. We don't consider you an enemy anymore. Same goes for Mr. Trent, he and my boss left the country yesterday."

"Kurtis Trent is with your boss right now?" repeated Lara, not thinking about lowering her gun yet.

"I heard he was wounded badly", explained The Agency employee. "Mr. Gunderson brought him to the hospital and then offered him a ride out of the country. We never had a beef with Trent; he even worked for us in the past. Only our contract with The Cabal put us on different sides."

"You said Gunderson is closing down the office in Germany", said Lara after nodding in understanding to the guy's story. "Where is he going after that? I need to speak to him to find out where Trent is. Or do you perhaps know where Trent is going?"

"Can't help you with that", was the answer. "But Gunderson will be heading to England next. I don't know what he is going to be up to over there though. I received instructions to retrieve some documents and items we left in the Strahov and then stay away from The Agency for a while until the heat would calm down. They'd contact me to get things started again."

"That's clear then", said Lara and now lowered the machine gun. "Is there a way out of here?"

Together the two went through passage way to another side of the building and from there ended up out on the street again. It was just around the corner from where Lara and Maria had entered. A van was standing near; it apparently had taken The Agency people to the location.

"Need a ride?" asked the man.

Lara shook her head and smiled in the absence of a good answer. It felt a bit awkward being friendly with him now after murdering two of his colleagues.

The guy shrugged and got into the van, driving away into the night and leaving Lara behind.

Analysing the new information she obtained Croft walked back to where Maria Vasily should still be waiting for her. The cold wind was making her wet feet feel like they'd freeze off.

But when she arrived at the place where she left the widow waiting there was nobody. She walked around and called out the woman's name a few times, but Mathias Vasily's wife seemed to be vanished. Not sure what to think of it Lara slowly walked back to the street.

So Kurtis was alive and had made friends with Gunderson again. She wondered if he had tried to find her or contact her at some point. They hadn't known each other for a long time, but she liked to believe they were allies in the end. At the other hand, Trent was an ambiguous figure. He had been stealing her weapons and the Obscura painting and had trapped her in that airlock. He was doing it obviously in his own interest, and perhaps their short cooperation was part of his agenda as well.

Still, he was the one who had the longest history with Eckhardt and the Cabal; she needed him if she wanted to make sure everyone connected to Werner's murder was found and killed now.

Still pondering over that issue she called for a cab and let her drive back to the hotel.

She slept in the next morning and went downstairs for breakfast only close to noon. It indeed had been snowing again during the night and a white blanket was covering the streets. In Prague it seemed normal weather for the early autumn.

Lara was just halfway her breakfast when her mobile phone started to vibrate inside her pocket. She took the little device and flipped it open. The number in the screen belonged to someone she had just added to her phonebook the day before; Terry Bellamy from the British embassy.

"Good morning Lara", he said cheerfully. "I hope I'm not interrupting you with anything?"

"No", hummed Lara, still finishing the last bite of her toast. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing really", said Terry, by his voice Lara guessed that he was smirking. "I have good news for you. This morning a call came in from London, the Monstrum killings didn't stop. Last night someone was killed under the exact same circumstances as the murders in Paris and Prague. The police can't do anything but drop the case against you, you are free to go."

Lara wasn't sure if she had to be ecstatic about the fact she was no longer a suspect, or shocked that the Monstrum was still active. This could not mean anything else then that Karel was not dead.

"That's great", she blurted out, "I mean… yes, great… wonderful news, thank you."

"A bit overwhelmed, are we?" said Terry, who didn't seem to be bothered by her aloof reaction. "Could you come by the embassy as soon as possible? You need to sign some paperwork and then you can take the first plane back to good old England."

Only half an hour later Lara arrived at the gates of the embassy. She was welcomed in by a friendly gentleman and put in a comfortable seat in the lobby with a cup of hot tea. Despite not being much of a patriot Lara felt some kind of relief to hear the receptionists talking in posh upper-class English and taste real English tea again.

It didn't take long for Terry to appear in the hallway with some papers under his arm. He asked for a cup of black coffee and sat down at the seat to the opposite of Lara's.

"You can just sign them here", he explained, "We need just two scribbles really."

After a polite but formal start he switched to a more casual tone. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"Quite so", said Lara politely and took the pen the ambassador handed her. "What about you?"

"Not that well, to be honest", said Terry. "It's been for the first time in months I'm drinking coffee again in the morning. I had these strange nightmares keeping me up the whole night."

Just considering it small talk Lara nodded slowly while only half listening, she was reading the forms and couldn't focus her attention at two things.

"That's rotten", she said absentmindedly. "You have that more often?"

"Actually not", continued Terry. He sipped from his coffee and grinned a bit awkwardly while rubbing his jaw. "Ghostly stuff and all that jazz never bother me. But last night I just kept seeing this creepy white face. It had some sort of black lining, like a tattoo or something, and it just looked at me."

A short silence dropped in which Lara continued reading and Terry watched her while drinking his coffee. The story about his nightmares didn't seem to let loose of him just yet though.

"You are an archaeologist, right?" he said suddenly. "That ghost face was saying stuff about… delphiniums or something... nephrology... no... Nephilim, could that be? Is that something from ancient history? It sounds like an old ruler or something, like Nebuchadnezzar."

Lara suddenly looked up, boring her eyes into the man in front of her, looking quite confused.

"Nephilim?" she repeated. "No, I never heard of such. I think it was just random things you dreamed about." She quickly proceeded to sign the papers and hand them back.


End file.
